


Episode 10: Heaven and Hell

by inkandpaperqwerty



Series: Bright Smiles and Bloody Lips [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Castiel is Not Innocent, Crying jag, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Drunk Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e10 Heaven and Hell, F/M, Fade to Black, Gen, Hell Trauma, Implied Sexual Content, Manipulative Castiel, Manipulative Ruby (Supernatural), Men Crying, Nightmares, Parental Sam Winchester, Samandriel is Precious, Single Parent Sam Winchester, Uncle Dean Winchester, emotional drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperqwerty/pseuds/inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: "Dean expected Sam to find a way to cope after he was dragged to Hell. By no means did he, even for a moment, think Sam might look to parenting as a coping mechanism."Ruby digs her claws in deeper as Sam and Dean try to figure out how Anna might be able to help them find Liam. She helps them, alright, but not how they expected... and certainly not how Castiel wanted.





	Episode 10: Heaven and Hell

“You could throw him back in the Pit if you weren’t so out of shape.”

“Ruby…”

“No, really. You’re getting flabby.”

Sam closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. “I know.” He combed his finger through again and then rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to do, Ruby. I was serious about being done. I really was. I just…” He sighed and shook his head, staring down at his feet. “I feel so _helpless._ And I’m tired of feeling that way. With Dean. With Liam. With you and Anna and _everything_ that happened in the last twenty-four hours. I mean, I couldn’t protect anybody in that fight.”

Ruby slid onto the couch next to him, easing the book he had been reading out of his hands. “Hey. One thing at a time.” She set it aside and took his hands in hers. “I can take care of myself, and Dean so can Dean. And we’re gonna find Liam. Between you and me and Dean…” she squeezed his hands, peering up into his eyes, “…even Castiel, okay? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no angel fan, but they’re crazy powerful, and they want Dean for something. So, if they want him enough that they’re gonna help us… we’re gonna find Liam.”

Sam squeezed her hand back, forcing a weak and fleeting smile. “You’re right.” He paused, and despite how cheap and sleazy it felt, he met her eyes and whispered a cautious, “Have sex with me?”

Ruby looked at him in surprise, but then her face eased into soft understanding. “I’ll be the best distraction you’ve ever had.” She swung one leg over his lap and settled down on his hips, rubbing his neck and shoulders. “And I won’t even give you a hangover.”

Sam leaned up and pressed his lips to hers, pulling away just long enough to murmur, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” He ran his hands down her sides and settled them on her waist, fingers nearly reaching all the way around her middle. “Help me?”

“I will.” Ruby ran both hands through his hair and licked his upper lip, pressing her forehead against his. “Let me take care of you.”

Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

And then he turned off his brain completely. 

* * *

It was a fight to remember, but not for the reasons one might think. Sure, the moves were impressive, and the sheer power left onlookers speechless, but it was what was the words exchanged that Dean couldn’t get out of his head.

_“Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me… or they destroy what they stole from you. I know how their minds work.”_

Dean found himself staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw, frozen in place where he had been standing when Anna disappeared. Every demon was gone and the dust had settled, but Dean was as far from relaxed as he could be, his heart thundering against the inside of his ribcage. Blood ran like fire under his skin, his vision swam and blurred, he was drowning in shock and burning with rage, and he was frozen.

“Castiel…” Sam slowly turned away from the last place Alistair had been, joining Dean in his staring contest with the angels. “What did Anna mean by ‘what they stole?’”

Castiel looked at Sam long enough to process the question and then immediately looked back at Dean. “I don’t know. We haven’t taken anything from you. Quite the opposite, you have something of ours.” He indicated the angel blade hanging limply from Dean’s hand.

“So… what?” Sam spread his arms, head cocking to the side as disbelief contorted his features. “She just made it up?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Castiel snapped back, returning his attention to Sam. “Anna was extremely bitter.”

Ruby snorted. “Yeah, well, can you blame her?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not fond of the demons trying to skin me for switching sides, either.”

Castiel glared at her only briefly, then he looked at Sam, and then his eyes were back on Dean. “I don’t know what she was talking about. If it’s that important, I can try to—”

“Yeah, Cas, it’s pretty freakin’ important.” Sam shoved his way back into the conversation, not willing to let Castiel weasel his way out with a halfhearted explanation. “She knew you threatened to throw Dean back in Hell, and she didn’t know you threatened to kill me, but that was the step Dean and I expected. Why didn’t she? What did she hear on Angel Radio to make her think you were up to something else?”

Castiel glared at Sam. “We never threaten—”

“I did.” Uriel spoke up from behind Castiel, slowly arching a brow. “And it was clearly effective. Why would we need to steal something of yours?”

“It wasn’t effective at all!” Sam threw his arms wide and indicated the barn they were standing in. “We set you up. Did you really not get that?”

Dean swallowed hard, ears ringing with the steady hum of static and a frantic heartbeat, still trapped in his moment of realization. He had known as soon as the fight was over—as soon as he had more than two seconds to think about what Anna said—and it was crushing the air out of his lungs. He wanted to open his mouth and say it—wanted to accuse, to threaten, to _scream—_ but he couldn’t.

“Castiel, we don’t answer to them.” Uriel leaned in, rumbling in Castiel’s ear. “If they can’t accept that Anna lied to them, that’s hardly our fault.”

Castiel extended a hand toward Uriel, keeping his palm facing down and as close to the floor as his arm allowed. “I understand his frustration, Uriel, and you are in no place to speak. Return to Heaven if it bothers you so much, but I intend to sort this out if it’s at all possible.”

“Hey, a sign of decency.” Sam snorted. “That’s new.”

Castiel glared. “What do you take me for?”

“I already told you,” Sam shot back, opening his mouth to continue.

“You have Liam.”

It took Dean several seconds to realize he had spoken, his eyes fixed on the dusty floor but completely unfocused.

“What?” Sam whispered.

“Dean,” Castiel started. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean slowly lifted his head, swallowing hard, arms and shoulders aching from the force behind the blood in his veins. “You were the one who suggested demons were responsible.”

“It’s a valid suggestion.” Castiel wasn’t wrong, but his face was guarded.

“You encouraged us to work with Ruby,” Dean replied tightly.

“Also valid.”

“You haven’t been able to find him.”

“He’s concealed; hence my belief that demons were involved.”

Dean shook his head, eyes glassy. “You shouldn’t have even cared.” He sniffed, trying to compose himself. “You didn’t even like Liam… and you’re heartless enough to kill an ex-comrade just for wanting a better life… so why would you give a crap about a little boy who got on your last nerve?”

“Dean.” Castiel’s expression twisted up in a display of offence—Dean refused to believe it was hurt—and he actually raised his voice a little. “You might not approve of all our methods, but we are _angels._ There are some things—”

“There’s _nothing_ you wouldn’t do if Heaven ordered it,” Dean interrupted with a snarl.

Castiel stopped at that, eyes bright with the frantic formation of various lies. “Heaven… wouldn’t order such a thing.”

“They ordered the destruction of an entire town!” Dean shouted.

Castiel shouted back, “What would be the purpose of taking him?”

“Exactly what Anna said!” Dean shook his head, dashing away the moisture in his eyes. “You couldn’t get me to do what you wanted in Clayton, and when you threatened to kill Liam, I told you I would refuse on principle.” He laughed bitterly, the noise choked out by the tightening of his throat, rage and tears blurring his vision. “But if you _took_ him…”

He couldn’t even say it.

Thankfully, Sam could.

“If you took Liam, we would do anything to get your help finding him… because you can do a better job than we ever could. We wouldn’t sacrifice our best shot of finding him for anything.” Sam snorted out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, fists trembling at his sides. “Because you know how far we’ve gone to save family in the past.”

Castiel took a step forward and hardened his voice. “Do you even hear yourself?” he uttered, voice low and rumbling and _dangerous._ “Do you have any idea how _asinine_ you sound? You—”

“Castiel, give it up.” Uriel sighed and slipped his hands into his pockets with an air of mildly irritated nonchalance that made Dean’s blood boil. “Look at their faces; they know.”

Castiel turned his head just slightly, spitting words at his partner with three times the venom he had ever used on the Winchesters. “Uriel, _what_ are you _doing?_ ”

“Ending this ridiculous charade.” Uriel moved his gaze from Castiel to the brothers, eyes narrowed. “Loathe as I am to admit it, they were smarter than we anticipated.” His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Not that it matters. We’ve got your third musketeer—”

“Uriel!”

“—and as long as we do, you can’t find a way to keep him from us. We choose whether he lives or dies, and you can refuse on principle, but that won’t make your boy any less _dead._ ”

“Uriel!” Castiel whirled on the spot, closing the distance between them with a single step and a snarled order. “Leave. Now!”

There was a moment of nothing, and then Uriel vanished.

Dean was already halfway across the room, angel blade heavy in his hand. Dean wrapped one arm around Castiel’s chest and pressed the tip of the blade into his throat.

“Where _is_ he?”

Castiel vanished.

Dean turned on the spot and looked around, but all he saw was an empty barn and Sam and Ruby in the same, clueless boat as him.

“A word of advice.”

Dean whirled back around and found Castiel standing several feet away, just inside the door.

“Don’t hesitate when using an angel blade. You’ll render it ineffective.”

Just like that, Castiel was gone, and there was very little chance he would be back again.

_I don’t know if you can hear this, but unless you’re bringing Liam back, I don’t ever want to see your face again!_

“Well…” Ruby shifted in place, pressing a hand to the still-oozing wound in her stomach. “What do we do now?”

Dean snorted, staring at the last place Castiel stood. It hurt—it hurt more than he ever expected—and he couldn’t keep his eyes completely dry, so he wasn’t about to turn around and face her. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“I told you so.” Dean sniffed and wrinkled his nose, reaching up to quickly wipe his face again. _Get a grip, man._ He sniffed again and turned around, setting his jaw. “You called it. You said the angels might have him. I wouldn’t listen.”

 _“I mean, from what I understand, they aren’t exactly_ forthcoming. _Maybe—”_

_“Woah, stop it right there. There is no way Heaven has Liam. Castiel would know something like that, and he wouldn’t do that to us.”_

He had even forgone Castiel’s usual nickname, hoping to hide any signs of friendship, not wanting to give Hell a reason to go after Castiel specifically.

“Who cares?” Ruby folded her arms over her chest, her expression showing more concern than anything else. “I was right, you were wrong. I’ll do cartwheels later. Right now, we’ve got to focus on Liam.”

Sam swallowed hard, seemingly stuck in the state of shock that had held Dean captive during the initial argument. “What is there to focus on? We know he’s with them, but they could be keeping him anywhere… and we have no way of finding him.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” Ruby clapped her hands and then rubbed them together. “C’mon, guys. This can be good.”

“Good?” Dean echoed incredulously.

“Yes,” Ruby insisted. “Before, we didn’t even know if he was still alive. Uriel said, ‘We _have_ Liam.’ Liam is definitely alive. That’s our first good thing.”

Sam and Dean both nodded, Sam running a hand through his hair as he began to speak. “We also have a guaranteed way to keep him safe. Even if we don’t like it, as long as we obey the angels, they don’t have a reason to hurt him.”

Ruby pointed to him. “Good thing two.” She paused thoughtfully. “Let’s see. Knowing who has him means we can start researching specific weaknesses. We found Anna’s Grace by tracking meteors, right? Maybe there are weapons or other caches of Grace we can look for using similar clues.” She shrugged. “Hell has gates. Maybe Heaven does, too.”

Dean wet his lips and nodded. “Yeah, okay. It’s not much, but at least we’ve got something.” He wrinkled his nose and wiped his face again, disguising it as an attempt to clean the blood from his mouth and nose. “We’ve got the angel blade, so we’ve got at least one thing that works on them. If all angels carry them, we might be able to build up a little collection.”

Ruby and Sam both nodded, Ruby a little more enthusiastic. “Exactly. C’mon, guys, we can do this.”

Dean scowled at her, unable to ignore the sting of betrayal. “Why do you even care?”

“Dean…” Sam started, eyes tired in more ways than one.

“No, seriously.” Dean took a deep breath to dry his eyes. “I trusted Cas, and he turned out to be the one who took Liam.” He gestured to Ruby. “I barely trust you, and we’re about to give you access to all our planning and… crap. So, I need a reason. And I need a good one.”

Ruby wet her lips and looked between the two of them, taking a breath. She dropped her gaze downward and exhaled. “I, uh… I had a little brother.”

Dean blinked. _I didn’t see that one coming._ From the look on Sam’s face, neither had he.

“He was…” Ruby cleared her throat. “He was about Liam’s age when he got sick.” She shook her head and folded her arms over her stomach, her body language defensive as always, but significantly less confident. “This was over a thousand years ago. Getting sick back then pretty much meant you were gonna die, especially when you got as sick as he was.” She laughed softly, a bittersweet smile turning her lips. “He’s, uh… he’s actually the reason I became a witch. I had to… find a way to save him.”

Dean didn’t say anything, knowing Sam would ask the question in his stead.

“Did you?” Sam spoke softly, reaching out and gently tugging her arm away from herself so he could grasp her hand.

Ruby nodded a few times, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, I saved him, alright.” She laughed again, and it was filed with more heartache and resentment than before. “He grew up strong and healthy… one of the first to be picked when our people went to war.”

Dean closed his eyes, face twisting with pain. He couldn’t even imagine.

Well, no. He supposed he could. Selling his soul to save his little brother only to turn around and realize his best attempts had backfired horribly? That was a pretty accurate account of the last year and a half.

“Yeah, okay, that’s a good reason,” Dean muttered.

Sam looked at her with searching eyes, brow creased with sympathy. “Couldn’t you do anything for him?”

Ruby pressed her lips together. “Witchcraft is just like any other science. It evolves with time. Back then, there weren’t any resurrection spells. We didn’t figure that out for… psh, another hundred years or so.”

For a moment, none of them said anything. Dean couldn’t help but wonder how his story would have gone if he had eventually caved all the way and embraced demonhood.

_“Look, I’m evil, but I’m not that evil. I just wanted to save my brother. I had no idea I was going to end up like this. I just… I had to.”_

“Well.” Ruby punched each of them in the shoulder. “Glad we had this talk. Let’s never do this again.”

Dean couldn’t help grinning, but it lasted no more than a second. He reached up to wipe more dried blood from his mouth. “We better get a motel for the night and clean up… then we can start forming a plan.” He glanced at Ruby’s bloody stomach. “Besides, I think we all need a little first aid.”

Sam nodded in agreement, letting go of Ruby’s hand and rubbing the back of his head. “Ugh, you had to bring it up… I was trying to ignore the giant knot forming on my skull.”

Ruby snorted. “Well, you two get yourselves taken care of. I’ll be around.”

“Come on.” Dean started toward the Impala, waving her along. “At least let us get you patched up.”

Ruby looked at Sam for confirmation. Sam, of course, nodded along, and Ruby offered a shrug. “Hey, it’s your leather I’m gonna bleed on.”  

Dean held up a finger. “Uh, on second thought…”

They all shared a weak, distracted, uncertain laugh, and then they were walking out to Baby. Dean spent the entire walk, the entire drive, the entire _night_ trying not to think about Castiel for more than two minutes at a time. 

* * *

“I still can’t believe we made it out of there.” Dean held out his bottle and waited for Sam to clink it, keeping his eyes on the motel floor.

“Strangely, I feel less like a winner and more like a survivor.” Sam heaved a quiet sigh and brought his bottle up to his lips. “Funny how that used to be enough.” He took a swig.

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything, sipping some of his own brew and contemplating how to move forward. “I know…” He cleared his throat and took another drink. “I know you heard him.”

Sam didn’t say anything, leaning back in his chair.

“How he said…” Dean swallowed hard, trying not to think back to the barn and failing.

_“Dean, Dean, Dean… I am so disappointed. You had such promise. You were one of my favorites.”_

Sam once again remained silent, but he inclined his head to show he was listening.

_“Imagine my surprise when I got to the surface and they told me you were playing house. What’s the rugrat called again? Liam?”_

“Dean… of course I heard him… and don’t get me wrong, I’m curious, but…” Sam let out a soft sigh and held up his free hand in surrender. “You aren’t talking about Hell, and I’m not pushing. You don’t need that. Especially not now. Neither of us do.”

_“Does Liam know what you’re capable of, Dean? Did you tell him about all the fun we had? I think it would make a great bedtime story.”_

Dean blinked away the tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t four months, you know.”

“What?” Sam set his bottle aside and leaned forward.

Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him. “It was four months up here, but down there… I don’t know… time’s different.” He sniffed and took another drink. “It was, uh, more like forty years.”

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was pained.

And then it all came tumbling out, vague and fractured but every word true.

And Dean wished he couldn’t feel anything at all. 

* * *

“Are you _still_ angry about this?”

Castiel said nothing, pulsing and flashing red without a word.

“It’s over, Castiel. He figured it out.” Dark blue intermingled with charcoal gray, bobbing like waves on the sea. “You saw his eyes. He knew. You were never going to change his mind, even if he _wasn’t_ right.”

Castiel darkened to crimson, wavelengths ablaze with golden-white lightning. “That wasn’t your call to make. _You_ are _my_ subordinate, not the other way around.”

“If you were yourself, it’s the call you would have made,” Uriel snapped back, both the blue and gray lightening in shade to match the stony nature of his cool dismissal. “What’s been going on with you?”

Red turned to orange, the anger replaced by a brief sense of shock, and yellow hues of nervousness cut through from time to time. “Nothing.”

“Well,” Uriel’s light thrummed with laughter, “that’s a lie.”

Castiel flared and then faded slightly, hot pink embarrassment slipping between the cracks in his coloring. “It isn’t anything you should concern yourself with. I’m still capable of completing the mission.”

“Are you?” Uriel accused, his light creeping out to touch the edge of Castiel’s.

Castiel pulled back at first but then relaxed, easing into his brother’s space. His light had never felt such a strong urge to be away from the Grace of other angels. It was disconcerting.

“Truly, Castiel.” Uriel became even lighter, baby blue and heather gray swirling together with tendrils of white. “I know I’ve been getting fed up with the lack of clear direction in our orders, but you’ve never struggled with that. It’s not like you.”

Castiel flooded with a blazing pink that quickly melted into plum and then a dark shade of blue. He grew pale, like a sunny sky, and then he turned slightly green, resembling more of a robin’s egg. Then he darkened again, maintaining the shade but gaining saturation until he was the color of a harbor.

“Uriel… I think I may be compromised.”

Uriel turned a shade of pale pink, curious in the extreme, and then he went white. Open, uninfluenced, unjudging, emotionless white. “How so?” Or the white of concealment. “Has something happened?” There was no way of knowing.

“I think…” Castiel maintained his shade, pulsing and shuddering, a steady song starting deep in his core and resonating through his colors. “I think… I’ve been fighting a little too long.” If he was lucky, Uriel wouldn’t notice the brief flickers of white that came with the partial lie.

Uriel turned a soft, frosted green, like the leaves of lamb’s ears. “Ah. Soldier’s fatigue.” His shade thrummed; no more or less intense, just moving. “If you need a reprieve—”

“I can’t. Not now.” Castiel remained teal, but gold and silver started to pour out from his center, pride and anticipation and devotion. “This is important. This could be the most important thing we’ve ever done.”

“I agree. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t continue forever without rest.” Uriel turned a little darker. “Castiel, you laid siege to Hell. You wore yourself down, and you haven’t rested since then.” Flashing sparks of purple and pink started to travel through him along with deep, rumbling laughter. “Even God needed to rest, brother.”

Castiel’s essence grew thin and airy, similar to the way a human might sigh, and then it reignited with a hue of bluish white. “If I seem too tired to go on, confront me. Otherwise, I have a job to do, and I need to start by repairing the trust Dean had in me.”

Uriel turned a shade of coral. “You mean the trust he had in Heaven.”

Castiel went pink but quickly swirled into orangish-red, repeating the process of growing dim and bright again. “Yes, of course.”

“Uh-huh.” Uriel grew slightly more orange than pink. “Well, you better run along. From what Samandriel said earlier, it’s been a bit of a rough day for Winchester III.”

Castiel opened his eyes in the greenroom, blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden shift in light, and he quickly found Samandriel hovering over a fussy Liam.

“Samandriel?” Castiel called softly. “What’s the trouble?”

Samandriel turned to Castiel with eyes that were concerned but not frustrated, meaning the problem was likely not one Liam was intentionally creating. “Castiel, I can’t banish his dreams. This has never happened to me before.”

Castiel approached the bed with a frown, reaching out one hand to feel Liam’s forehead. “He seems a bit feverish. That can play a part in the human dreaming process.”

Samandriel shook his head. “No, I tried to heal it. It isn’t a fever. I think it’s from the crying.” He bit down on his lip, clearly worried. “He managed to fall asleep twice, but only for a half hour each time. He needs sleep, Castiel.”

Castiel peered down at Liam with a pinched brow and wrinkled nose. “Liam,” he started softly. “Does this happen often?”

Liam sniffled in bed, lying on his side facing them, curled up tight and trying to soothe himself with stuttering breaths. “It’s a bad anxiety night.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel mumbled.

“Oh.” Samandriel pursed his lips. “I might. Uh, Liam, are you talking about a disorder? Like, um… now, wait a minute… I had to do a mission in the late nineties, and I possessed the body of a psychology student.” His attention shifted more to Castiel as his explanation continued. “My information is a bit outdated, but… uh, Liam, is it Generalized Anxiety Disorder? Or something ritualistic, like OCD?”

“No, s’just… general,” Liam murmured, dragging his arm over his eyes. “I want Sorzie…”

Castiel let out a quiet sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, Liam, but you can’t have him right now.” He wet his lips. “What would you normally do if you were having these dreams? What would Sam and Dean do?”

“Um… cuddles… music…” Liam sniffed and pressed his face against his pillow. “I have a stuffed kitty… I named her Miss Frizzle.”

Samandriel smiled widely. _“That’s adorable,”_ he projected.

Castiel gave him a sideways glance but ultimately kept his focus on Liam. “Okay, so music and Mrs. Fri—”

“Miss not Mrs. She’s not married.” Liam sniffed again. “I have a soft blanket, too.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright. Samandriel, give him… _cuddles_ … and I’ll see what I can do to get the items of interest. Don’t bother putting him to sleep again until we ha—”

Castiel blinked and he was in the woods, standing less than ten feet away from Ruby. His entire being shifted from protector to destroyer, an indignant rage washing over him. “You summoned me? How _dare_ you?”

Ruby folded her arms over her chest and snorted derisively. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help, choir boy.” She arched her brow at him. “Since you, apparently, can’t handle the basic fundamentals of a human relationship.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and took a few steps forward, fully intending to smite her. “I don’t need your help. If you hadn’t drawn them to Anna—”

“I was doing my _job_ , unlike you.” Ruby put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders, nowhere near as afraid of him as he would have liked. “I have Sam _and_ Dean eating out of my hand, and you can’t even get the guy whose soul you dragged out of the frying pan to _tolerate_ you. And I have no backup, in case you didn’t notice. Hell has no idea what I’m doing; you’ve got the whole Host of Heaven on your side.”

Castiel opened his mouth to object, heat rushing through his veins in a way that oddly matched the shades of red and pink his light would have been.

“So, first things first, stop thinking they’ll revere you just because you’re an angel. You already screwed that positive point to literal Hell. They’re comparing you to demons.” Ruby started to pace, folding her arms over her chest as she circled him. “Make them feel bad for you. Make them sympathize, even empathize. If they’re going to forgive you, what you did has to be out of your hands. Show them you’re just as helpless in the situation as they are.”

“I am _not_ —”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not helpless, you’re an all-powerful creature of multidimensional blah ba-blah ba-blah.” Ruby waved it off dismissively, still wandering around the clearing she had summoned him into. “Second, start taking better care of Liam. You have to do more than keep him alive, you have to keep him happy. Let them communicate with him. Let them send him little notes and cards; humans are crazy about that crap. Liam’s homeschooled, so teach him some things, things he can tell them about. Get his life as close to normal as possible, and they’ll be happier about it.”

Castiel opened his mouth again to object, and Ruby stepped closer to him, putting her hands on her chest. “Third, you need to get along with _me_ a little better. Humans are all about that, ‘let’s put aside our differences and fight the good fight together’ nonsense. You’ve gotta do it reluctantly, and you’ve gotta be realistic, but you at least need to show you’re open to it.” She started to pace again, lifting her hands in a display of frustration. “Sam’s never gonna get off the ‘arrogant tyrant’ soapbox unless you take yourself down a peg. You know, get on their level. They’re all about humility when it’s someone else and it suits them.”

Castiel wet his lips and creased his brow, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t understand. What… is this?”

“This is me trying to save _our_ mission. I’ve already convinced Sam to get back on the demon blood, but if we don’t get him away from Dean, Dean will keep pulling him back. I can’t do my job unless you do yours.” She gave him a dirty look. “And I told you, I have no backup. I can’t afford to be cleaning up your messes.”

Castiel felt a flicker of curiosity and hope. “Dean hasn’t given his blessing for the blood yet? I assumed he would.”

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty freakin’ close, but he’s not close _enough._ They’re doing that thing they do, where Dean’s silent and stoic and mad, and Sam’s got the guilty eyes, and the, ‘I don’t know, Ruby,’ ‘What if it’s a bad idea, Ruby?’ ‘Are you sure about this, Ruby?’” She threw her arms out in frustration. “I can’t get him to drain an entire body when he’s like this, and we are running out of time! Twenty-six seals have already been broken, and—”

Castiel huffed out a sigh, briefly letting himself share her vexation. “Twenty-seven, last I heard.”

Ruby spread her arms a little further and looked at him expectantly. “All the more reason to speed up Sam’s progress.”

“Alright, alright.” Castiel held up a hand to end the conversation. “I’ll do what I can. Don’t summon me again unless it’s an emergency.” He scoffed. “With any luck, you’ll pull me out of a conversation with them, and it’ll be one more discrepancy to explain.”

Ruby held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. Whatever. Just make it work.”

“Don’t think yourself capable of telling me what to do,” Castiel snarled.

Ruby sneered right back. “Oh, I don’t think. I know.”

Castiel growled, clenching his fists at his sides. “Don’t condescend to me.”

“I don’t have to,” was Ruby’s sharp reply. “I’m doing your job better than you with a fraction of your resources. That should be condensation enough.” She glared. “And Castiel?”

Castiel glared back, refusing to give her the victory of verbal acknowledgement.

“If you can’t do this, do everybody a favor and pull yourself out. We might be on opposite sides for round two, but if you don’t shape up, neither of us are gonna get what we want.” Ruby pivoted on her heel and marched into the darkness of the trees and underbrush, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.

 _That’s twice now it’s been suggested I can’t do this._ Castiel looked down at his hands and narrowed his gaze. He wanted to push back against the accusations with a fiery rebuttal, but he couldn’t.

Because he _didn’t_ know if he could complete the mission.

 _It doesn’t matter. I have to find a way. I have to do… something._ Castiel stopped and took a deep breath, calming his vessel. _Focus. I need something to calm Liam down. I can think about the mission later._

He inwardly flinched.

 _Liam should not come before the mission._ But the mission didn’t have tearful blue eyes and reddened cheeks and little fists curled through his jacket so tight he thought the fabric would tear.

_They’re right. I do need to pull myself out._

But he didn’t. He kept the thought warded, and he shoved it down into the darkest corner of himself, and then he landed behind the Impala in the motel parking lot where Sam and Dean were staying.

 _Let’s see._ Castiel waved his hand over the trunk, and the metal flew into his hand, revealing several bags and boxes on top of the usual weapons cache. _It seems children can’t pack as light as adults._ He started poking through the contents, having absolutely no idea what he was looking for. _Miss Frizzle and a blanket should be easy enough, but… how do I obtain music? And what of these other items?_ He heaved a sigh. _Humans draw comfort from the oddest things._

Castiel felt something sharp poke into his back, and a rushed voice whispered in his ear,

“I gave you the courtesy of not taking your advice; give me the courtesy of a conversation.”

Castiel didn’t move, hands frozen above a stuffed cat he was pretty sure was Miss Frizzle. “I’ll answer any questions I can, Sam.”

“Two conditions,” Sam ground out. “One, don’t feed me crap.”

Castiel’s expression twisted in disgust. “Why would—”

“Don’t _lie,_ ” Sam explained. “If you can’t answer something truthfully, just say so.”

Castiel nodded slowly, still facing the open trunk with both hands hovering just above its contents.

“My other condition is that nothing we say leaves this parking lot.” Sam shifted his stance, gravel crunching under his boots. “Nobody hears this conversation but us.”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer the way Sam wanted, but he reconsidered at the last second. _He has to know I can’t promise that._ Castiel wet his lips and tried again. “This… is a test, isn’t it?”

“You tell me.”

Castiel blinked a few times, thinking, and then he shook his head. “I can’t promise you confidentiality, Sam. If I deem something relevant, I have to share it with my superiors.”

Sam didn’t say anything for several moments, and Castiel considered flying away before he could be skewered, but he held out. Ironically, he chose to have a little faith in Sam.

“Alright.” Sam removed the blade from Castiel’s back. “Fine.”

Castiel slowly straightened up and turned to face Sam, guilt cutting into his chest at the sight of the exhausted, run-down, subtly-terrified face.

“Where is he?” Sam’s voice was shaking—not from fear, Castiel was certain—and he was still gripping the angel blade tightly.

“Sam,” Castiel shook his head and looked at Sam with pained eyes. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“No.” Sam swallowed hard, averting his gaze for a moment. “I mean… what kind of place? What’s it like there?”

It took Castiel a moment to realize Sam wanted to know if Liam was _literally_ locked up in a cell somewhere, chained to the wall or the floor.

Castiel extended his hand, but Sam backed up and lifted the blade with a deadly glare. Castiel stopped and turned his hand slightly, hoping to placate. “I was only going to show you his room.”

“You’re not touching my head.” Sam watched Castiel with hard, cautious eyes. “Describe it.”

Castiel dropped his hand with a nod. “It is a rather large bedroom. There’s an adjoining bathroom, bookshelves, an area rug… he has room to run around and play—” or destroy things, “—and he gets three square meals a day.” He chose not to mention the lack of sunshine or fresh air.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded slowly, processing the information as quickly as he could and moving on to the next question. “Has he been hurt?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head.

“Not even accidentally?” Sam pressed, worry blazing through his eyes like wildfire; like Liam consumed his every thought, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was satisfied with the answers he got.

Which, Castiel was starting to realize, was exactly the case.

“No. He’s been… upset. But he’s not hurt.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, searching for something politically correct that was still believable. “He has the most trouble at night. During the day, he seems to occupy his time easily.”

“Is he alone most of the time?”

Castiel couldn’t get a read on what answer Sam wanted to hear, so he opted for more truth. “There is another angel in charge of him. Samandriel. He stays with Liam when he isn’t needed elsewhere, which… is rather often. Samandriel isn’t a soldier.”

Sam swallowed, almost nervously, and squinted slightly. “What is he?”

“He’s a… clerk of sorts. He’s not exactly… soldier material. He’s too…” Castiel trailed for a moment, struggling with his words before finally settling on, “…effervescent.”

“Effervescent?” Sam echoed, a disbelieving note in his voice.

Castiel only shrugged. “It’s the truth. You may take it or leave it.”

Sam looked like he was debating with himself, but in the end, he let it drop and moved on to the next thing. “Were you ever planning on telling us?”

Castiel wet his lips and then shook his head. “No.”

Sam let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking at Castiel with profound hurt in his eyes. “So, you were just… never going to bring him home to me.”

“No.” Castiel immediately shook his head. “No, he would have been returned.”

“How? If you weren’t going to tell me, you—” Sam cut himself off and shook his head. “When can I have him back?”

Castiel thought about that for several moments. He could say he didn’t know—which wasn’t technically a lie; he didn’t know the exact date and time—but Ruby was right. He had to gain their trust back as soon as possible.

And honestly?

He didn’t like how it felt to lie to them.

“I can’t answer that, Sam.”

Sam bit his lip, eyes suddenly moist, but he simply swallowed and nodded and cleared his throat. “Okay.” He nodded again and then gestured to the trunk. “What are you here for?”

“Liam is having a difficult night. Samandriel and I can’t seem to dispel his dreams, so… I came to find comfort items.” Castiel glanced at the car, spying the corner of a bright blue backpack.

Sam adjusted his grip on the angel blade, shifting in place. “I prayed to you about his nightmares before.” He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything then. Did you not hear me?”

Castiel cast his eyes to the pavement. “I heard you.” He looked back at the car.

“So, you let him suffer. To… what? Get to me?”

Castiel looked at Sam with as much sympathy as he could muster. “I can’t answer that, Sam.”

“So, it was.” Sam nodded, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes again. He sniffed and glanced away, composing himself with a few more nods before he looked back at Castiel. “You couldn’t do it any other way? You couldn’t go after Dean? Bobby? Me? Why—why didn’t you just come after me?”

Castiel clenched his jaw. “This _is_ coming after you, Sam. This is what it looks like.”

Sam ran his hand through his hair, inhaling deeply but finding he had nothing to say. Just a silently open mouth and an expression of disgust and anger and confusion.

“What would you have me do, Sam?”

“Bring him back to me!” Sam just barely kept himself from shouting.

“I do that, then what?” Castiel spread his arms slightly, lifting his brows in that way humans did when they expected someone to realize their folly. “I bring Liam back to you, I get dispatched, and then an entire garrison comes for him.” He raised his voice a little, putting a not-entirely-faked desperation into his tone. “Sam, please understand. If I hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else, and they would have known even less about him than I do. I am _trying_ to keep Liam as comfortable and happy as possible despite the circumstances.”

“So, your excuse is that it could be worse?” Sam stepped forward until they were almost touching, towering over Castiel by several inches. “You _took_ my _son_ from me!”

Castiel hit the inside of the trunk lid, eyes blazing. “Would I really come out here, knowing you have a weapon and good reason to kill me, for a stuffed _toy_ if I didn’t care?” He searched Sam’s eyes, finding shock and contemplation but still _so_ _much_ hurt. “This is… unprecedented, Sam. This doesn’t _happen_ to me.”

Sam blinked the tears from his eyes and leaned forward slightly, tilting his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “What doesn’t?”

“Regret,” Castiel shot back, anger still burning through his veins. “I don’t regret following orders, and I don’t wish it was different. Some angels do, but not me, not ever, not in seven thousand years.” He wet his lips and straightened up slightly, squaring his shoulders.

_“Make them feel bad for you. Make them sympathize, even empathize. If they’re going to forgive you, what you did has to be out of your hands. Show them you’re just as helpless in the situation as they are.”_

“I don’t know what to do, Sam. I don’t…” Castiel looked away, composing himself and trying to get a grip on his vessel’s reactions to the Grace roiling inside it. “If my superiors knew why I really came here… if they knew I wasn’t here to strongarm you and your brother into cooperating, they would take me off the mission, and who knows what would happen to Liam then. I’m—I’m doing the best I can, alright?” He glanced around, subtly reminded that anybody could be watching.

 _I’ll just tell them this is manipulation._ Not that that was a lie. Because it was manipulation. It was all about controlling the way Sam and Dean saw him. It was just a way to carry out his mission, to ensure he got what he wanted.

It was. It was, it was, _it was_.

“Can we visit him?” Sam asked softly.

Castiel shook his head. “No.” He wet his lips, glanced around, and took a deep breath. “You… could write him. I would have to screen any letters you send for codes or conspiracies, but… it would be something.”

Castiel only mentioned it because it was Ruby’s idea, and she had been successful at manipulating both Winchesters up to that point. He only mentioned it because it was part of the plan. Everything he was doing was part of the plan.

“Could he write back?” Sam sounded so fragile when he asked; so hopeful, so desperate for the slightest bit of contact with his child. “Just… just so I can hear how he’s doing? From him?”

Castiel nodded slightly. “Yes.” He looked at the trunk again. “What should I take for him?”

Sam sniffed hard and approached the trunk, going through the contents and pulling out various items. “Um, this is my iPod. He has a playlist on there he likes to listen to. Don’t—don’t let him listen to my other music; there’s some stuff on there he shouldn’t hear.” He opened his mouth to say something more but then stopped, grabbing another toy. “This is his stuffed kitty; he likes to sleep with her.”

“Ah. Miss Frizzle.” Castiel nodded in understanding as he took the soft toy, and he didn’t miss the light smile tugging on the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“Yeah, Miss Frizzle.” Sam sniffed and reached into the trunk again, tugging out more bundles of softness. “This is his favorite blanket, and this is my shirt—just trust me, he’ll want it. Here, he’ll want one of Dean’s, too. Take that one.”

Castiel dutifully took everything that was handed to him, confused but not daring to ask; not daring to break the uneasy truce that had been formed.

“I… guess that’s everything. I’ll write him a letter… you can pick it up in the morning if you’re not busy.” Sam wet his lips, obviously working hard to keep himself together.

Castiel nodded slightly and looked at his arms. “These items… they will help him?”

“They might,” Sam whispered. “Liam has been severely abused. His nightmares aren’t easy to… make better.”

 _What?_ Castiel didn’t even know what that meant. Last time he checked, abuse was just misuse, usually of money or power. There was verbal abuse—shouting, obscenities, and so on—but that hardly seemed an appropriate cause for nightmares.

Before Castiel had a chance to speak, the back door to the Impala was kicked open, and Dean stumbled out, reeking of alcohol and holding a nearly empty bottle in his hand.

Castiel tensed, waiting for Dean to react, but Dean was surprisingly calm.

Or, more likely, too drunk to really process what was going on.

Dean reached down his shirt and grabbed his necklace, tugging it up and over his head with lots of difficulty and a near loss of balance. He took a couple wobbly steps toward Castiel and held the necklace out.

“There. For the nights.”

Castiel took the offered jewelry with a confused, still cautious expression.

Sam grabbed Dean around the waist, taking the arm closest to him and hauling it around his neck. “Go, Castiel. I don’t want him to be alone right now.” He swallowed. “Tell him I love him, and that none of this is his fault.”

Castiel frowned slightly. “Why would—”

“Just…” Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Just tell him for me. Tell him it isn’t his fault.”

Castiel was unsure how well he would be able to relay the message, but he would try. He spent another moment staring at the state both brothers were in—the state he had caused—and then he flew away. 

* * *

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as soon as Castiel was gone. He held onto Dean, ironically clinging to a plastered man for stability, and tried not to be too angry.

“I told you to go get some air. I didn’t say go get another six-pack and hide in the Impala.”

“This is America.” Dean stomped his foot. “I can do… _whadever_ I want.”

Sam started walking Dean toward their room, kicking the Impala door shut as he passed it. “Really, now?”

Dean nodded, lifting his foot a little too high to get it up on the sidewalk. “Yup. I’m—I’m a cowboooy!”

Sam wrestled the door open and barely managed to pull Dean inside before he could sing another loud, off-key line.

“N’a steel horse I riiiide!” Dean dropped the bottle he had almost emptied, and staggered over to the bed, falling onto the mattress with a plop. “I’m wanteeed— _dead or alive!”_ He threw his head back and started playing the air guitar, vocalizing the necessary noises.

Sam felt a pang in his chest at the familiar sight.

_“Leeet’s do the Time Warp agaaaiiin!”_

He had watched that video every day since Liam went missing.

 _No. Since he was kidnapped._ Sam fought off the pain as best he could and grabbed the bottle from the floor, trying to focus on Dean instead. “Yeah, you’re a real rock star.” He tossed the bottle into the trash and then went over to the bed, taking Dean by the shoulders and pushing him closer to the center. “Come on, Bon Jovi, lay on your side for me.”

“Where’s my drink?” Dean reached around blindly.

“You’ve had enough to drink, Dean. Just get some sleep.” Sam tried to adjust the pillows, but Dean pushed him away.

“Nope. Not tired.” Dean rolled over until he fell off the bed on the other side, his thump followed by a laugh and then, “Ooh, trashcan. Need that.”

“Dean—” Sam rushed around the bed.

Dean held up a finger. “Don’t worry. It’s strategic.” He then dropped his head and vomited half into the can and half onto the floor.

Sam tried not to step in the mess when he got close to Dean, rubbing his back with one hand and helping him hold the trashcan steady with the other. “Dean… how much did you drink?”

Dean spat into the can and lifted his head. “All accordion plan.”

“Dean, how m—”

“I dunno, like, two bottles.” Dean frowned. “Maybe three.” He let go of the trashcan and started to stand. “That’s—that’s a mess right there.”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed out a weak laugh and helped Dean onto his feet, once again trying to get him into bed. “I’ll clean it up, just lay down. Okay?”

“We need—” Dean pushed him away again, and Sam let him.

Drunk Dean had a significantly decreased ability to tell friend from foe; anybody holding him down or pushing him around was a threat, and Drunk Dean had no problem going for the throat of any perceived threat.

“We need a maid. We need a—a little bell.” He held up his hand and made a vague gesture that could be described as pantomime bell-ringing. “Ring, ring! Maid!”

“Shh! It’s three in the morning. You’re gonna get us kicked out.” Sam put his hands on his hips with a soft sigh. “Just… lay down and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Pshhh! I feel good _now_ , Sammy! I don’t need sleep.”

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “Dean, what are you doing?”

On any other night, Sam would placate Dean by agreeing with whatever ridiculous thing he said, but it wasn’t any other night. Sam was suffering, too, and he didn’t get to drink it away. He needed to keep a level head, needed to come up with a plan, needed to keep the only family he had from falling to pieces.

He needed his brother.

“Seriously. I mean, you don’t do this.” Sam barely kept himself from rushing forward when Dean tried to sit. “Ever since that time in New York, you’ve been terrified of getting blackout drunk.”

“M’not drunk.” Dean kept struggling until he was upright, one finger pointing skyward. “I am buzzing. Different.”

“No, you’re _drunk._ Man, we’ve never done this. We drink, we get buzzed, we’ll even get drunk when we can afford it, but not like this.” Sam ran his hands through his hair. “Not stumbling, puking, grown-man-peeing-his-pants drunk.”

“Hey!” Dean kicked Sam—except for the part where he missed by a foot—and tumbled to the floor. “I didn’t pee my pants!”

“No, but you threw up, missed the trash can, and you can’t even sit up on a bed!” Sam indicated Dean with a gesture. “Don’t you remember all those lectures you gave me? ‘If you’re too drunk, people get the jump on you, Sammy.’ ‘Even if you’re having a good time, you gotta watch your six, Sammy.’ ‘Never know who’s crawling around while you’re tossing back the shots, Sammy.’” Sam spread his arms and looked at Dean expectantly. “Is any of that ringing a bell?”

Dean sat back against the wall and threw his hands up, hitting the nightstand but seeming unbothered by the pain. “What’s the point?” he shouted. “Why even sober?”

Logically, Sam knew there was no winning an argument with a drunk, but emotionally, he needed to yell at someone, so he pointed to the window and did just that. “It’s twenty degrees out there! I was getting ready for bed when Castiel showed up, because you were supposed to text me if you decided to get anything else to drink, and you _didn’t._ You could have frozen to death out there, Dean! At the very least, you would have had hypothermia!”

“Well, then the—the _sky people_ can just pop me back alive, can’t they?” Dean pushed off the wall and tried to stand, falling back to his knees. “They can just—just pop around and do— _all_ the do things, Sam.” He tried to get up again. “All of’em.”

“Dean—”

“And it doedn’t matter anyway, ‘cause I was wrong about drunking.” Dean got his feet beneath him and fell into the wall with a thud. “Don’t matter if you watch your back, ‘cause you’re gonna get hurt either way.” He lifted his hands a little higher, holding them over his hand and shrugging in nonchalance before dropping them all the way back down. “Hurts either way.”

Sam let out a heavy sigh and lifted his hands to rub his face. “Dean…” He ran his hands through his hair, overwhelmed and coming apart at the seams but still incapable of turning off his instincts. “This isn’t just about Liam, is it?”

“Nooo. No. Don’t wanna talk about that. Don’t—that’s bad thoughts, and I don’t want’em.” Dean leaned against the wall and staggered over to the kitchenette. “Don’t want’em.”

“This is about Castiel.”

“Don’t.” Dean glared in Sam’s general direction, fumbling around the drawers and cabinets like he was looking for something. “Nodn’t.”

“You really liked him, didn’t you?” Sam wet his lips. “I mean, beyond the part where he saved you from Hell.”

Dean shook his head a few times. “No, that’s—that’s _it,_ that’s the—” He slammed his fists down on the counter with an angry cry. “I was bad there. It was so bad, and I was bad, and it just didn’t.”

“Didn’t what, Dean?” Sam pressed softly.

“It _didn’t,_ ” Dean insisted, like that explained everything.

“Okay… it didn’t.” Sam wet his lips, trying to be conscious of how raw the topic had been when Dean was sober. “So, then what? Castiel showed up?”

“It was Christmas Eve.” Dean nodded solemnly, tracing his hand sloppily along the outline of a drawer.

Sam wet his lips and squinted. “It… was Christmas Eve?”

“Christmas lights everywhere, like, all the place over. And they were the flashy, blinky kind—I like those kind—and then it was star.” Dean put his hands up to the sky and turned around, glassy eyes fixed to the ceiling light. “It was a big star, like the—like the baby Jesus one. It was the baby Jesus star.”

“Star of Bethlehem?” Sam tried, doing his best to paint a picture with what Dean gave him. He figured it was December, so the constant Christmas mood, music, and decorations wormed their way into Dean’s drunken brain and influenced the way he described something that was definitely _not_ Christmas Eve. “Big, bright star up in the sky? Like… the one the wise men followed?”

Dean pointed to Sam frantically. “Yes! Yes, and I followed it. Because it was loud and dirty and cold and just—it was just too much. There was so much… _much_ … but the star wasn’t, so I running… runned—ran. I ran.” Dean gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, accentuating certain parts with movements Sam didn’t understand. “I ran. I ran like I was in a tharamon, like the Flash, like _zoom_ , and I kept running my legs. And then I got to Christmas!”

Sam frowned, panic tightening his chest as he watched Dean’s excitement vanish and his eyes inexplicably fill with tears. “Dean…?”

“It was like… all year was _so…_ sucky…” Dean’s lips wobbled, and he shook his head, saline already running down his cheeks. “But Christmas was… so bright and warm… and you were there, and…” he reached for his necklace, choking back a sob when it wasn’t there, “…and that, and the—the _togetherness_ and it just—it felt like Christmas. It felt like—like safe and warm and—and _home_ , and I wanted it to last so bad, Sammy.” He fell back against the counter. “But I’m here again.” His voice cracked when he spoke, lips wet and tears rolling freely. “I’m back here, in the sucky, _awful_ year, and there’s no lights, and there’s no warm or safe or, or, or _good_ anything, it’s just—it just _hurts_ , and I thought—I thought I was—”

Dean’s voice cracked again, and his face crumbled. “I thought I was done hurting.” His legs melted beneath him, and he hit the floor, his head falling back against the cabinets. “I just want to be done hurting.”

Sam rushed across the room.

“Just for a little? Just—just a little.”

Sam pulled Dean into his arms, not knowing what else to do.

“I just don’t want to hurt anymore. Please.”

Sam started rocking, running his hand through Dean’s hair.

“Please… please, please, please, please, _please_ …”

After that, Dean was an unintelligible mess of tears and loud, coarse sobs that racked his body as he fell headlong into another reason why he hated the idea of getting plastered: crying jags. And Dean was on one, no doubt about it.

“Shh…” Sam ran his hand through Dean’s hair again. “You’re okay. You’re okay, I’m here. I’m here… shh…”

Once Dean calmed down enough, Sam would coax him into the shower; because, in their current position, he could feel that Dean _had,_ in fact, wet his pants. Possibly more than once.

“We’re gonna be okay, Dean. I promise. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you.”

Then he would wrestle Dean into some comfortable clothes and try to get him to drink some water. He would put Dean to bed, careful to keep him off his back, and tuck him in as best he could.

“It’s okay, it’s okay… shh, I’m here… it’s okay…”

Sam wouldn’t sleep. He would do a little research. Maybe text Ruby. Brainstorm. Anything to distract him from the mess they were in. But he wouldn’t sleep.

“I’ve got you, Dean. I’ve got you. I won’t let go… I’m right here… shh, deep breaths… it shouldn’t last too much longer…”

Then, when Dean woke up in the morning, Sam would pretend nothing had happened. If Dean asked, Sam would lie. If Dean found out he went on a crying jag in front of his little brother, he would be mortified, and he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t need any more pain, and if Sam had to lie to keep Dean from falling any deeper into the pit, so be it.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean… hey, listen to that, you’re already breathing a little better… I got’cha, Dean… I’m right here, and I’m not leaving… it’s all gonna be okay… one way or another, it’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be Christmas again. I promise.”

* * *

Castiel hit his knees and retched again, once again bringing up the painful nothingness in his stomach. He hadn’t used Jimmy’s bodily functions since he possessed him months earlier. But _something_ was happening, and it was making his vessel twist and convulse painfully.

_“Excellent performance, Castiel. You’ve never been very good at reading and mimicking human emotion, but that? You deserve an Oscar.”_

Castiel dropped his head again, the muscles in his stomach and chest contracting, curling him into a ball against his will as the painful spasms tore through his body. _What is this? What’s happening?_ He collapsed against a nearby tree, exhausted and panting and sweating and doing things he was not supposed to be able to do.

_“Dean’s a mess now. You offer to take some of that pain away, and he’ll march to whatever drum we want.”_

Castiel wiped his forehead and looked at his fingers, not understanding why there was moisture. He understood sweating, of course, but not why _he_ was doing it. _Jimmy!_ He wiped at his face repeatedly, trying to get rid of the moisture. _Jimmy, what’s happening to this body?_

For a moment, there was nothing, but then there was quiet laughter. It was soft, only mildly amused and almost pitying, but it was definitely there. **_Oh, Castiel…_**

_Jimmy! Tell me now!_

**_This is what we humans like to call guilt._ **

Castiel swallowed hard, still panting, and he wiped his face again. _What?_

**_Guilt. All-consuming, gut-wrenching, cold-sweating guilt._ **

Castiel pulled himself onto his knees, fingers curling through the lush grass and tearing it out in clumps. _I have taken many vessels, and this has never happened to me before. Tell me the truth, Jimmy!_

**_Maybe you were never this connected. I can barely keep up with what’s going on, but I’ve heard you muttering to yourself enough to know that… what was it you said? You’ve been in this vessel too long?_ **

Castiel swallowed hard and cautiously got back to his feet. He was afraid to try flying, and even if he wasn’t, he didn’t want to go somewhere his siblings might stumble upon him. He didn’t want anyone to see him in such a sorry state.

_That doesn’t explain anything. I was talking about facial expressions and body language, not—not emotions or physical reactions or—or whatever this is!_

**_Castiel…_** Jimmy fell silent for a moment. **_Claire once broke a piece of my wife’s fine china, and she wouldn’t admit she’d done it. My wife recruited me, for lack of a better word, to get the truth out of her._**

Castiel shook his head, walking slowly over to the edge of the lake he had landed beside. _What does this have to do with anything?_

 ** _I’m getting there, Castiel. Be patient._** Jimmy laughed softly, much like he had the first time, somehow equally kind and mocking… _teasing_ almost, like a friend would. **_I talked to Claire for a while, but I never accused her. She kept dropping hints, but I would only ask her how her day was, if there was something she wanted to tell me, or if she had gotten in trouble recently… things like that. I wouldn’t mention the china._**

Castiel knelt down by the water’s edge and looked at his reflection, watching the emotions cross its face, cross _his_ face with horrified bewilderment.

**_Then I told her something, and now, I’m going to tell you the same thing._ **

Castiel froze, listening intently, heart thundering inside a chest that wasn’t his, wasn’t _supposed_ to be his.

**_You know what you’ve done. You just don’t want to admit it, so you’re trying to make me do it for you. You want me to lay it out so you can nod your head and move on without thinking about it. You want to say, “I admitted it. I took responsibility. I’m not ignoring it,” when you know full well that is exactly what you’re doing._ **

Castiel shuddered, watching the way his face twisted, the way his lips trembled, the way he looked like he wanted to cry when it should have been impossible. _Everything_ he was feeling should have been impossible.

 ** _You know this is guilt, Castiel, and you’re not getting off easy by pretending you don’t know exactly what you did to cause this._** Jimmy had a surprising lack of anger in both his voice and essence as he spoke. **_I can’t help you. You did this to yourself, and you’re never going to stop running from it unless you own up to it yourself._**

 _Be quiet!_ Castiel shut Jimmy down even as he had the thought, and then it was just him and his reflection. _I only wanted to know why my vessel was malfunctioning._ He narrowed his gaze, throat tight, and stared himself down. _This is necessary. This is all necessary. Once the fight is over, we’ll establish Paradise. No more pain, no more suffering, no more frightened children, no more brothers fighting, no more dead parents… it will be better._

So why? Why did it feel so wrong? Why did every lie taste like acid on his tongue? Why did it burn and twist and throb? Why was he so tired and worn down and _emotional?_

Just why?

Castiel struck the water, distorting the image of himself and glaring at the wobbly remains. _I’m not supposed to be like this!_ He hit it again when his visage started to piece back together, some of the water getting in his eyes. He wiped it away, surprised to find it was warm.

Castiel took a deep breath and got to his feet, tilting his head back until he was staring up at the stars. _I’m not compromised, and I’m not defective. I can do this job. Doing the right thing is rarely easy. If anything, this is a sign that I’m on the right path._

_That’s a lie, and you know it._

_I told you to be quiet._

It wasn’t until a few hours later, while watching over a fitfully sleeping Liam, that Castiel realized he had put Jimmy to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I got most of Drunk Dean's behavior from LivePD (aka the show that gives me a will to live). "Don't worry, it's strategic," was actually something my cousin said right before throwing up when drunk. What you should take away from this is that drinking is nice, but drunkenness is never a good idea.
> 
> On another note, Liam will be making more appearances now that the Winchesters know. Also, Castiel will be paying Liam's biological mother a visit... so look forward to that. Not sure where the bit about Christmas came from, but I think it's just that December is here, and Christmas is everywhere. Like Drunk Dean, I was thinking about the happiness and relief of seeing rescue after forty years of Hell, and I thought about Christmas.
> 
> Question for you all: Does the level of angst seem out of character? Are the boys getting too emotional? Please share your thoughts!


End file.
